


Penance

by AnOddSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Caning, Complicated Relationships, Confinement, Fucking Machines, Gags, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Past Torture, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 03:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16338725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: After Purgatory everything was a little different. Dean was different; harsher, punishing. And Cas was different enough to follow his lead without question. Sam is on the outside of a club he wants no part in, being angry and demanding isn't something he wants, but he doesn't know how to make a change or leave.Dean and Cas make all the rules and they expect him to obey, or pay the price. The punishments are getting worse and his resolve isn't getting any stronger. There's nothing to do but take it.





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Atone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191290) by [AnOddSock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock). 



> Kinktober 
> 
> 18. **Fucking Machine** | ~~Latex | Role Reversal | Xenophilia~~
> 
> This idea came to me after writing day 4 of Kinktober, and whereas that could be completely in line with canon, this is an utterly self indulgent whump fic where everyone is a _little_ out of character to make it work.
> 
> This is a twisted version of Dean and Cas who came back changed after Purgatory. It is, essentially, an abusive relationship that Sam doesn't know how to, or want to leave.
> 
> I'm not sure how I feel about the fic as a whole but I finished it so you get to read it!

As they leave the warehouse Sam notices the change in Dean’s gait. He's gone from focused and in the zone to angry.

Angry, closed off, brimming with resentment. And Sam's convinced it's directed at him.

Sure enough when they reach the Impala Dean turns on him. Crowds him up against the car, ripping his weapons from his hands and throwing them aside.

“What the hell were you playing at?”

“When?”

“What do you mean when? _In there_. In the fight, what were you doing?”

“I…” Sam tries to recall the altercations to see where he fucked up. “You were backed into a corner, Cas was busy… I just thought-”

“Huh-uh. See there's the problem. _You don't think_. You go along with the plan, you don't come up with ideas, unless we tell you to do something you stick to what we arranged.”

Sam closes his eyes halfway. He'd abandoned his machete and picked up a gun Dean had dropped, it had a quicker take-down time and the situation had looked dire, but he hadn't been told to do that.

He swallows.

“I saved your ass.” He says quietly.

Dean was turning away, but rounds on him with a finger to his chest. “What did you say?”

Sam looks at Castiel for help and finds him watching intently but not interfering.

“Because it sounded --” Dean continues, prodding him, “like you implied I couldn't take care of things myself. It _sounded_ like you were talking back.”

“What am I supposed to do if you're in danger?” Sam hisses. “Leave you to die?”

“See there you go again, assuming that you know better, or can think clearer, you're not supposed to think about this kind of shit at all. You know it gets you into trouble!”

Sam backs up a few steps, twisting away from Dean’s coiled tight body. He can't go on like this. He can't keep letting them treat him like this. As always he's about to launch into a plea for things to change, to make Dean to realise how far things have fallen, he's putting the words together, words so long thought out, when Dean's order cuts through his resolve.

“Cas, take him to the storage unit.”

_Wait!_

He wants to yell, beg, but there's a hand on his shoulder and the world turns inward and he's not with Dean anymore.

Its utterly dark, not even a sliver of light.

He knees give a little and he stumbles as he tries to turn around.

“Cas, wait wait, don't-”

“Don't?”

He gulps. Fuck. No. He didn't mean to demand.

“Please, please Cas,” he gropes outward and finds Cas's arm, clinging. “You don't have to do this.”

“No, I don't have to.”

He closes his eyes and hangs his head at the implication.

“Please, try and get him to decide quickly. Please I can't,” his voice cracks and he pulls back to compose himself. “You can sway him, I'll do better, I'll make it right, just please don't leave me here as long as last time.”

“You know I'll tell him this, how you tried to make a deal?”

_Shit._

“I don't mean to be, I'm just… I'm nervous.”

Cas hums his annoyance. “You know better. He won't stand for manipulation. Give me your phone.”

Sam reluctantly fishes into his pocket for it, handing over the small square with a pang of loss at how stranded he feels without it.

And just like that Cas is gone.

Sam stands in place for a long time, hoping with everything he has that Cas will reappear before he’s forced to confront the reality that he might be here for the long haul.

When his legs start to ache he moves around a little, hands outstretched so as not to bump into anything. There’s really no good place to get comfortable but he finds a set of shelves and sinks down to lean against them. The floor is cold, everything is cold.

Nothing to do but wait.

 

* * *

 

It’s not a long time, at least not days, but long enough for Sam to contemplate everything. Every possibility, every wrong doing, every scenario he might face when Cas comes back for him.

The storage unit was a new addition to their arsenal. A place to store things they didn’t have room for in the Impala, additional weapons, lore books they’d found along the way.

And Sam, if Dean thought he needed a time out.

Things had changed after purgatory. Sam had grown soft after a year of not hunting, he knew that. He knew it was part of it. But Dean and Castiel, they’d grown harder. Less forgiving, angrier, brutal.

The deal they’d had years ago, the one that Sam had used to assuage his guilt and make carrying on bearable, had come back into play. But like everything that came back from purgatory, it came back wrong.

Now it isn’t at his insistence, at the need to feel a physical representation of emotional pain, now it's purely a punishment. And it isn’t when he asks, it’s when Dean decides. Dean keeps careful watch on him, making sure he knows how to keep in line and making him regret it when he doesn't. Dean has final say on everything, where they go, what they do, how they do it.

The rules are hard to stick to though, he doesn’t have any freedoms, any room to make decisions. He’s supposed to follow along like a mindless drone, doing what Dean says when he says it and not question anything, ever.

Which Sam is incapable of doing. So he ends up here. Wherever here is.

When Dean realised it was the perfect place to stash Sam away when he becomes “troublesome” they changed the location, so Sam has no idea where, exactly, it is that he’s sitting. It’s just some nameless black space that he can’t leave.

It’s not like the Cage, not really, for one thing it’s far too human, far too plain and boring.

But. _But_. It is cold, and it’s a prison he can’t leave and there are _things_ in here. Shelves full of instruments designed to put him in his place. Never mind how much he might enjoy some of them if he chose to use them, when they’re used against him unwillingly it just hurts.

He gropes around until he finds the shelf full of water bottles and snack food. It’s been replenished since the last time… last time he was here for days and nearly ran out of rations.

Water. Wait. Think. Shiver. Wonder.

His eyes never adjust to the dark. There’s no way to shout for help, Dean made sure to soundproof the entire room and bolt it closed from the inside — so even if someone heard him they can’t get in. Cas is the only one Dean trusts to access the place.

Wait for Cas. Hope for the best — or at least not the worst — and try and save energy.

When the flutter of wings signals Cas’s return it's with one simple command.

“Strip.”

Sam swallows his heart when it tries to crawl out of his body via his throat and starts undoing buttons.

Cas leaves and returns twice in the time it takes him to undress, the sound of items picked off shelves accompany his coming and goings. Dean must have picked out his ideal scenario, and only Sam doesn’t know what it is.

 

* * *

 

Cas deposits him back into a motel room with dizzying speed, Sam catches himself on the nearest bed, eyes scanning the room even as he squints at the sudden brightness.

Dean’s sat at the table, feet kicked up, chair tipped back. There’s chips open in front of him, the air conditioning hums somewhere, the door is closed and locked, curtains drawn.

Dean looks him up and down, and Sam slowly moves to cover himself, as Cas dumps his pile of clothes into the floor.

“Got anything you want to say?” Dean asks eventually.

Sam’s mind stalls. He wants to yell, have it out, tell Dean to fuck himself. He wants to cry, tell Dean he loves him, that they can work this out.

Cas touches his back gently before he can spiral too far. So he nods, looks down, sucks on his lip.

“Sorry, I didn’t do what you said was best, I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have—”

“Say it, Sam.”

“I shouldn’t have picked up your gun and used it.”

“Because?”

“Because… you told me not to.”

Dean kicks back and walks over shaking his head.

“Because,” he begins in his impatient, scolding voice, “when you make decisions on your own things get fucked up. Right?”

“Right.” He doesn’t believe that, but it’s what Dean wants to hear.

“I’m afraid I don’t believe that’s really sunk in. And I really want you to remember it. Me and Cas,” he waves between them, “we know how to do this, how to keep our heads and fight, we had a year of life or death practice at it.”

He grips Sam’s wrist and twists, and Sam falls to a knee under the strain.

“Whereas _you_ , you screw up most things you touch, which is why you get micromanaged to within an inch of your life.”

Sam nods, wincing at the sharp ache Dean is squeezing into his arm.

“Gonna help refresh the lesson though.”

Sam turns as Cas moves, lifting the machine into his line of sight.

He freezes.

He looks at Dean with horror. “No, no no, you don’t-”

Dean halts his babbling with one finger under his jaw.

“Did you just say no to me?”

“Fuck. Yes. ‘M sorry.”

“That’s two.”

Sam looks wildly between the two men standing over him.

“Oh yeah, I heard about you petitioning Cas for kindness. That was your first strike. So now this is two times worse for you than it could be.”

Sam’s panic spikes and he’s surging upwards and pushing away from Dean without thinking. “Fuck off you can’t do this, you can’t keep doing this!”

“That’s three.” and Dean is maddeningly calm when he says it. “Get him ready.”

Everything goes a little fuzzy. He lets Cas turn and guide him, rope appears and circles around each wrist, pulling tight. He’s guided toward the table and Cas presses him to his knees without a care. He’s on all fours, shaking, trying to keep it together and watches distantly as Cas spreads his hands apart until they can be bound to the table legs.

He tugs at them when Cas is done and they don’t budge. He grabbed at Cas in the storage unit so now he loses the privilege of using his hands. Strike one.

Dean comes back into view holding a pair of socks, Sam cranes his head before he has to be asked. He swallows back his fear, and tries to hide the defiance in his eyes too, it’s a fine line to walk.

“Open.”

Sam dutifully opens his mouth and Dean slowly feeds the socks one after the other between his teeth, pressing back and back until Sam’s cheeks bulge and he can’t swallow. A muffled sound makes its way out of his throat and Dean lifts one side of his lips into a smile.

“Much better. I’m going to trust you to keep them in there no matter what, you spit them out you get a fourth strike, understand?”

Sam nods, mumbling a little and then shutting up when it sounds pathetic. He spoke back, he loses the privilege of speaking at all. Strike two.

Sam hangs his head, ashamed, embarrassed, keenly aware of his vulnerability. He doesn’t know why he keeps letting them do this to him, why he doesn’t make it stop and push back, there has to be a way he just hasn’t thought of. The problem is he doesn’t want to fight, especially with Dean. He spent a year thinking he’d lost his brother, the last thing he wants to do is drive him away.

He wants to be with them, be loved, be needed and be helpful. And his thoughts keep telling him that if this is how he can help, then this is how it has to be. His anger and insolence is often just proof that he needs reprimanding, so he takes the hit time after time and tries to do better, so that they can still be a family.

The third strike comes in the form of a cock ring and ball stretcher, constricting his blood flow making him throb and dragging his delicate testes away from his body, holding them down. He whines at the first ache of the stretch but steels himself against the idea of not being able to find relief from the sensations the fucking machine will inflict.

Dean stands with one hand on Sam’s head, a steady weight, something to ground himself on as Cas gets him ready. It’s not unusual, they do want to punish him but they don’t want to harm him and they seem to know when they’re needed to help him get through it. He pushes into the point of contact as Cas lubes him up, cold liquid squirted straight into his ass, and then the blunt head of the slippery dildo as it presses against his hole.

Lube drips down his crack, leaking over his balls, cold and sticky and somehow more gut churning then the precursory stretch of the dildo.

Cas works for what must be at least ten minutes, pressing and relenting, slowly letting his ass acclimatise to the presence of the dildo, to widen and make room. A slow deliberate fucking of press and give until his inner walls learn to relax.  
He pants through it, teeth gritted on the gag, glad to have something to clamp down on as he tries to relax every other muscle he has.

When Cas can finally press the entire length into him, he rotates it, letting the weight settle and Sam’s insides learn its girth.

That’s the easy bit though. That’s just the beginning.

As the machine starts pumping Sam holds his breath, clenching even though it will hurt more, and feels the burning pain slice through him.

He isn’t stretched enough for it to be comfortable, only enough that it won’t damage, and he grunts and whines while Dean finds his favourite setting.

It starts slow and shallow and builds to deep and long, and only when it hits a faster but shallower thrust and Sam makes a deep whining groan that's drawn up out of his stomach does Dean set the remote down on Sam’s own back and walk away.

“Sam.”

He grunts at his own name.

“Sam this is going to be a long one,” Cas informs him, and his mind cracks in two at the prospect. “But I will apply new lube every twelve minutes, and check on your ability to breathe. Nod if you understand.”

He nods, jerkily, and stares at the carpet. His hands are clenched into fists, the rope standing out against his pale skin as the blood pools slightly on either side of the restriction.

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t get easier. It doesn’t get worse either, it’s just a constant mechanical pounding and Sam feels raw. Not just his ass where his skin is chafing slightly and puffing under the onslaught, but he feels it in his chest. His entire body on display and his every action scrutinised. Laid bare in every way.

He feels Cas’s appraising eye on him, watching for any distress that’s beyond what they intend to inflict. When his eyes are open he notices every casual glance Dean throws his way from his chair mere inches away from where Sam is being methodically, unhappily, fucked.

It's not new, the idea of either of them seeing his ass or his dick or them debasing him to make a point, but tears prick his eyes just the same. He blinks them away.

He can't cry, if he cries he won't be able to breath and he'll spit the gag out just to grab at oxygen. And that would be unacceptable.

He swallows down his feelings soon enough anyway, when the physical becomes the only thing he can think about.

“Is it sinking in yet?” Dean asks.

Sam picks his head up from where it has drooped to his chest and, struggling for air through his nose, he looks shakily at his brother. He doesn't know how to answer.

“We'll make sure you know your place by the time this is through.” Dean continues like Sam's response isn't important. He guesses maybe it isn't.

The socks are a sodden cold weight in his mouth. Soaked fibres sitting disgustingly on his tongue. He sucks them further in periodically, gravity working against him as he faces the floor.

His body responds little by little, the force of the fucking making everything zing and pulse. His cock swells even though he's uncomfortable and sickened. The cock ring keeps him hard, and the stretcher means he can't even find release. Not that he wants to, but it's all out of reach and his body doesn't know what to do.

Cas checks him over as promised, and by the third time Sam is hyper focused on how long it's been. Thirty six minutes. Over half an hour.

With lube reapplied and Cas's hand checking for Sam's pathetic huffs of breath, he's left alone again.

Just endure.

Just stay upright.

If he tilts his hips up the dildo brushes past his prostate, but he can't hold that way for long. He wants it, craves it, anything to make his body appreciate what it's being put through in some form or another. The frissons of pleasant feeling make it more easy to endure. He begs for it, silently, wills his ass to offer up the sweet spot even though it will come to nothing.

Otherwise it's just pain and dragging burn and the pressing awful squelch as his ass is forced open again and again.

Dean laughs at something and Sam recoils until he cranes his neck and realises Dean's looking at his laptop and it's not about him.

Of course it's not about him. He's an annoyance to be dealt with. No-one is focusing on him in a way that matters.

Sam has no idea how long he’s been making noise for but it creeps out of him until he gives up caring. He's grunting on every shallow exhale as the machine fucks into him, and dragging in air with a whine as it pulls back out.

_Please please. Enough soon._

He thinks this is the fifth time Cas has checked him, lubed him, which means it’s been an hour. The brief respite as he actually removes the dildo this time to reapply is almost worse. Sam can feel how he gapes, making room for silicon liquid to trail out of his hole and make a mess down the inside of his thighs.

“How's he looking?”

“Not bad. Red.” Cas replies. He presses a finger to Sam's hole and Sam jolts, twisting his head in surprise.

“Bit tender?” Dean chuckles. Sam's arms give out as he tries to nod and he ends up halfway sprawled on the carpet.

He pants there, willing himself back up, before there's a hand on his shoulder hauling him up and pillows are shoved under his chest. He leans gratefully on them. Moaning his thanks.

Is this all he'll ever be? A burden that requires care and help because he can't do a thing right by himself? He knows he shouldn't believe it, but his walls are down and his body is so tired. And if they believe it… what hope does he have?

“Sam, look at me.”

He opens exhausted eyes and finds Dean's face.

“I want to talk to you.”

Sam nods and then cries out as the machine starts again, dildo in line with his hole, widening it and pushing past resistance to become one with his body again.

“You know I don't like doing this?”

_I don't know that._

“You know it's only for everyone's best interests?”

_How is my pain a good thing?_

“I can't have you making mistakes, and the best way to make sure that doesn't happen is to have you tow the line without thinking.”

_Not thinking. Can't think. Hurts._

“I want you safe.”

Dean leans over and places his palm on the back of Sam's neck. Warm skin caressing his clammy hairline.

“And I have a responsibility to keep the world safe. And sometimes that means safe from you.”

_I know I've fucked up before._

He sobs, a throaty scream, as the machine suddenly kicks up a notch, speed increasing to pound his ass deep, fake plastic balls slamming against his tender skin.

“I don't know how to get it through your head without discipline. You just talk back too much otherwise, thinking you have a say.”

_I get it. I get it._

He yells again, gurgling as it doesn't let up.

“Just learn the lesson already and we don't have to keep going this.”

He sounds so much like John, like dad, a crude hand doling out discipline because he can't think what else to do, that Sam is horrified on a whole new level.

Dean's callused hand disappears and Sam is all clenched eyes and drooling lips. But the gag is slipping and he panics.

Grunting over and over _Dean Dean Dean_ to get his attention because he can't take another strike.

He’s begging, surging up and gesturing with his bound hand, pointing at his face while he’s jolting from the thrusting metal arm jabbing into his ass and his prostate is alive with sensation.

Cas is there, clutching his chin.

“What is it?”

He moans, hanging his head. Grunts pushing out of his chest as he tries to suck the spit soaked weight back behind his teeth.

“Dean, his gag is slipping, should I help him?”

“Sam, you need a hand? You asking for help to stick to the rules?”

He nods feverishly, fervently, shoulders heaving. _Please._

“Alright, good. Well done. Stick the ring gag on him to keep it in place.”

He’s grateful, so so grateful, stupidly happy to be helped to be silent. The metal gag pushes the socks further back and he chokes for a second while Cas rearranges it and straps it into place. And then he can hang his head and not worry, because the hole is too small for them to get through.

 

* * *

 

 

When they’re finally done with him he’s lost all track of time. Any gaps between Cas checking him over slip together until he’s lost count of how many times, and how many minutes, he’s been subjected to it.

He can’t stop the tears when the machine cuts out and Cas eases the dildo out of his hole.

He’s soaked in sweat, shaky, guts aching something fierce. Never mind the sharper pain in his ass.

He’s thinking about showers and cleaning up, and sleeping, and he’s all ready for his hands to be untied.

Only. They _aren’t._

They just leave him heaving on the carpet, collapsed in a heap with his sore, wet ass dripping and throbbing.

He tries to look for them, he does, but his eyes slip closed and he can’t move.

Time trickles past and he’s aware of movement around him, voices, chairs moving. It’s nice, this little slice of peace where nothing is touching him, but his arms ache and he just wants to curl up.

He wants to fucking swallow too. His jaw hurts. Everything hurts.

The pillows holding him off the floor get yanked away and he moans, missing them. Hands push his hips up, his knees in, he’s still slumped over but his ass is in the air now.

He gurgles and opens his eyes to see Dean crouching down beside the table toward, shifting so that he can pull Sam’s head against his hip, Dean’s long legs bracketing one side of this body. Sam goes unresisting, one arm stretched to the limit and the other half crushed and twisted. He tugs uselessly, hoping they might finally come free from the table legs. No such luck.

“Hey, Sam, you with us?”

He groans. _The gag, the gag, please take it out._

“Now you’re all ready it’s time for your punishment,” Dean says, matter of fact.

Sam jolts back to awareness in a flash. He moans urgently, confused and terrified. What did he just endure all this for if it wasn’t the punishment?

Dean grips him, holding him down, and Cas is behind him keeping his lower body still.

“The fucking was only part of it,” Dean leans down to make sure he hears and Sam is hemmed in by him in all manner of ways., “Just to get you ready so that your spanking really hits home.”

Sam twists, moaning. He can’t, he really can’t, his body is spent. He can’t even be angry anymore there’s only heartbreak that they want to hurt him further.

_Please, please, Dean, no no no._

But it’s all lost in the socks blocking his airways, he has no voice, no say, nowhere to go.

Dean shoves him down until his head is nestled between Dean’s arm and hip, Dean’s elbow a heavy weight on his back. He kicks out once and Cas rearranges him back into place and Dean’s ankles hook around the back of his knees so he can’t move again.

Sam sobs, crying out and hoping they listen.

When the cane cracks down on his ass he jerks violently but realises soon enough it was barely a tap. His vision goes white around the edges as he struggles to make air flow through his nose but if that’s it… he can do that? That's not so bad.

Two more strikes land on his ass, making three identical lines of warm heat and he’s calming now he's feeling it, and it’s okay. His throat is thick with emotion and tries to relax.

And then Dean moves and he feels hands spread his butt cheeks, exposing his currently oozing and painful hole, the cool air like ice cubes on the overworked skin.

He makes a sound of distress and Dean grips everything hard, Sam can’t even lift his head.

“You’re getting ten for your disobedience, and two each for every strike.”

Sixteen. Sixteen what?

He feels the cane trail down his crack, coming to rest on his hole and he freezes. _No._  
Not that, he can’t do that, not sixteen, not _any_ please Dean, Cas, someone no --

The first crack of the cane is like fire and he screams. His hole clenches and the pain radiates outward. It’s so personal, intimate, it feels like it’s in him, deep down.

The second comes before the first scream even finishes and he loses breath, throat closing as he desperately needs to scream and inhale and he can’t do either.

Three comes and he whites out, ears ringing, the hurt travelling through him until he can’t imagine he’s not bleeding out on the carpet. Dean keeps hold, shushing and soothing but still holding his cheeks apart so Cas can ruin him.

They let him breathe, gather the pieces of his consciousness back together but he wishes they didn’t because he knows what’s coming. He begs, the gag and his stuffed full mouth barely registering as he pleads. Two more fall and he’s beside himself, outside this, his entire lower half disconnected from everything, only agony, and they’re not even half way.

There’s nothing holding him up by the time six, seven, and then eight, strike their way into his being. He knows this will haunt him forever but he doesn’t care if it would just be over. Only the ropes and Dean keep him anywhere near the position they want but it still doesn’t stop. Sam is falling and falling, and they just keep pushing him down, further into pain.

His throat tears on stroke nine, he’s sure of it, the croak that he makes when ten hits is scratchy and harsh. His body is failing. Tears are choking him, he can feel how they coat his face, cool and wet compared to the fire and thorns below his belly.

His muscles feel like lead, strained and beyond comforting, even as Dean holds him close.

His ass hurts. Hurts in a way he didn't know was possible. Dean readjusts his hand hold, squeezing the globes of his ass in a way that just jolts the spanked raw flesh of his hole. He doesn’t have the energy to scream anymore, and not enough breath to moan or beg.

He jerks wildly, rocking in his predicament as Cas hits again. The cane is fire, a whip, a line of barbed metal, his mind pictures every bad thing it can, it’s so much more than just a strip of wood, it has to be.

Again. And again. More pain. Pain on top of pain, there’s only so much skin to hit down there and Cas is so precise.

“Two more, just two more.”

Fourteen, already? Is it really only that few?

There’s a pause and then they crack down so swiftly, one after the other, that Sam barely notices the difference between one and the next.

He's screaming, silently, just a breathy exhale as he tries to reconcile his existence with the amount of agony he can feel. They let him go, hands releasing but he can't move. Won't move. No more than the shaking and heaving chest. No more than that.

He's practically in Dean’s lap, head twisted around so he's squashed against the denim of his pants, and even as the gag is removed he stays exactly where he is. Maybe if he begs hard enough Dean will make the pain stop. Maybe if he stays there, Dean will comfort him.

“Stop stop stop, please no, please….” He whispers, voice broken and scratchy it's all he can do.

“You did it. It's done.” Dean says. There's a hand caressing his hair and Sam sobs at its gentleness.

“Dean… please, no more please.”

He means now. No more now. And no more ever, let it be done, let this be it.

Dean holds him close and let's the tears cry themselves out. And Cas lays him out on his side, a pillow for his head and his bindings removed - hands and cock and guilt.

He must've felt guilt, because he feels the weight leave him. He must have been guilty, or else they wouldn't have hurt him. That's how this works, right?

Or maybe that's just his delirium talking. He can't tell.

“Want to stay here tonight?”

Sam nods. He doesn't care that it's the floor. He doesn't care that it's the site of his abuse. He doesn't want to move. So he doesn't.

 

* * *

 

 

What's probably hours later he wakes with an unavoidable need to piss. He drags his mind out of sleep and feels the way his entire body aches, head to foot and everything in between.

Especially in between.

The lights are off and he hears Dean’s deep breathing, so steady, peaceful.

His hip smarts where he’s been laid on the floor, his shoulder too, and yet all he wants to do is curl back up and not move until everything is better, but that’s not really an option.

He tries to sit up and only ends up gasping in pain, rough and stinging and also so much more than skin deep. Bruising, so far down until he realises he can’t move an inch without it hurting.

He’s up on his knees, slowly, thinking he’s going to have to crawl when someone speaks behind him.

“I can assist you.” Cas says.

He flinches in surprise at Cas’s presence and hangs his head, grateful and embarrassed at the offer.

“Yeah, okay, please.”

Cas is there in a blink, easing Sam off the floor with a shoulder under his arm to keep him steady. Sam screws his eyes up against the pain, feeling sweat gathering at his temples through the effort of not yelling. He can’t even look where they’re walking and has to trust Cas to guide him.

It’s an odd feeling, relying on the one who hurt him to care for him now. He can’t think about it much or he might curl up and never get back to his feet.

Cas helps him stand over the toilet bowl and Sam is too exhausted to worry about minding his presence. Cas lets go as he leans against the countertop to wash his hands and he pants harshly as he stands there, trying to gather the courage to move again.

“Sam, you should sleep.”

He nods, but he still can’t move. Emotion smothers him as he catches sight of his drawn face in the mirror.

“I know… I know you won’t heal it, but, could you… it’ll be hard to wash can you clean me? The lube dried and,” he stops, mortified at the reality of his body, of describing to Cas what he needs.

“I think that would be acceptable, yes.”

Sam feels a light touch on his shoulder and the tacky gross feeling in his ass and down his balls and legs disappears, it doesn’t have the same relief as the absence of pain would but he sighs all the same.

“Thank you.” he croaks.

“Dean was… especially harsh this time.”

Sam laughs, just a little, a sound of a half-snort. He’s always harsh.

“Do you like it? Hurting me, I mean.” he turns with a wince to look at Cas. “Does it feel good?”

It’s not something he’s dared ask before, but in the quiet of the bathroom after a long day of pain he can’t see how knowing would make it any worse.

Cas considers him, squinting, and shakes his head.

“I do not revel in causing you to hurt, but I take pride in doing what I can for you both, as well as I can do so.”

“You like making sure it’s a thorough as it can be.” Sam concludes.

“I like to think it means I won’t need to repeat the process, but as of yet my theory hasn’t proven true.” Cas replies, words icy.

“I don’t think any of us need _this_ Cas.”

“Dean disagrees.”

And there it is, Dean’s word is law.

Softer, moving in, Cas smooths his hair back from his face. He craves the gentle touch and doesn't tell Cas to stop.

“And you needed this once before, you asked for it, did it not help you then?”

“That was different, I was already hurting and you helped me. Now I just… I wish neither of you wanted me to learn, or obey, through pain.”

“Then learn, and this can become a thing of the past.”

Sam gives up fighting then, tiredness overcoming him and shuffles around to let Cas support him back to bed.

“Do you think we’ll ever be like we were before?” Sam asks as he reaches the free bed.

Cas doesn’t say anything and Sam begins to wonder if he even heard. He settles down on his stomach, pulling a pillow under his head, body still over heated with pain he doesn’t bother with the blankets.

“Before is an illusion, all we have is now. Sleep Sam, it will all look better in the morning.”

Tears fill his eyes as he closes them, and all he can hope is that Cas is right.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure how to tag the relationship for this fic, if you think I should change it feel free to speak up.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, please let me know if you did, feed my insecurity with likes and comments <3


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